Edmund's Endless Wait
by Allspark
Summary: Edmund has never met his brother Peter before. But when he finally comes, he's not quite what he expected. AU, NO SLASH
1. Foreword

Greetings! This is the foreword to my new story, Edmund's Endless Wait. Since I'm changing things up a lot in this story (major AU) I decided it warranted a long author's note, which would probably be better received as a foreword. (So that you can skip it if you want :P)

Anyway, in this story, Edmund is 15, and he lives with his aunt and uncle and cousins. The aunt and uncle are, you guessed it, the Scrubbs. But for purposes in the story, I'm making Susan and Lucy his cousins, NOT his sisters, and Jill is a cousin as well. (And Eustace, of course.)

There will be a few minor OC's, mainly ones for background or necessary story purposes. Don't worry, no one falls in love.

If you think the title sounds familiar, good guess! This story is based off of the book Elsie's Endless Wait, by Martha Finley. If you've read it and are an Edmund fan, you'll know why I want to write this story, based around him ;)

This is a NO SLASH story. So no worries if you're a slash hater.

Well, that's pretty much all I need to tell you, so carry on, chaps!

- Danielle


	2. Trouble in the Schoolroom

**A/N: Oh my gosh, you guys! I've gotten so much feedback on this story, and that was just from the foreword! You guys rock! **

Chapter One – Trouble in the Schoolroom

The schoolroom at Roselands was a very pleasant room. True, its ceiling was lower than the rest of the ceilings in the large house, but the schoolroom was in the wing built in the days before WWII – while the main portion of the house was not more than thirty years old. The effect of the low ceiling was offset by tall windows that reached to the floor, and opened into a sunny veranda. The veranda overlooked a lovely flower garden, and the vista beyond offered large, shady trees, and a lush yard.

Roselands was the estate of Harold Scrubbs, a wealthy lawyer, and the main house – surrounded by stables, gardens, an orchard, and outbuildings – was the hub of all the activity at the vast place.

On the warm, fall morning when this story begins, the activity in the Roselands schoolroom included lessons in history and geography, English literature and French, arithmetic and penmanship. Five children of varying ages labored at their neat desks under the sharp eye and quick tongue of Mr. Day, the tutor.

Mr. Day was giving a lesson to six-year old Lucy, the youngest of the group, and his patience was wearing thin. The spoiled pet of both her father and mother, Lucy was a willful girl who often pushed her teacher to the limits.

"There!" exclaimed Mr. Day as he shut the book and impatiently tossed it onto the desk.

"I might as well try to teach old Trufflehunter, for your dog would learn about as fast as you, Lucy." With a pout on her pretty face, Lucy walked away, mumbling under her breath that she would "tell Mother." Looking at his watch, Mr. Day announced,

"Young ladies and gentlemen, I will leave you to your studies for an hour. Then I will return to hear you recite your lessons. Those of you who have done your work properly will be permitted to accompany me to the museum this afternoon."

"Oh, that will be jolly!" exclaimed Eustace, a bright sixteen-year-old with a love of mischief.

"Hush!" Mr. Day said sternly. "I don't want to hear any more outbursts from you, Eustace. And remember, you won't go to the museum unless you have learned your lessons thoroughly."

Looking to Jill, who was twelve, and seventeen-year-old Susan, Mr. Day instructed, "Girls, your French lessons must be perfect, and your English lessons as well."

Alone at a desk near one of the windows, a thin boy of fifteen was bent over his desk and gave every appearance of industry. To him, Mr. Day barked,

"Edmund, every figure of those arithmetic problems must be correct, and your geography lesson must be recited perfectly, and you must write a page of penmanship without a single mistake."

"Yes, sir," the boy replied quietly. For an instant, Edmund raised his dark brown eyes to his teacher, then immediately dropped his gaze back to the numbers in the textbook. Mr. Day issued his final command as he left the room:

"All of you are to remain in this room until I return."

"Unless Mother interferes, as she's sure to do," Eustace said in a low voice as Mr. Day steps retreated down the hall.

For perhaps ten minutes, all was quiet in the schoolroom. Each person seemed absorbed in study until Eustace jumped up and dropped his books on the desk with a loud _bang_.

"I know my lessons," he exclaimed, "and even if I didn't, I wouldn't study another bit for old Day – or Night, either!"

"Do be quiet, Eustace," his sister Jill begged. "I can't study when you make such a racket." Silenced, Eustace tiptoed across the room and crept up behind Edmund. He then quickly smacked him on the head. He jumped in surprise, and then softly asked Eustace to stop.

"But it's fun to bother you," Eustace said, and he smacked him again.

With all the control he could muster, Edmund asked him again, "Please stop bothering me, or I'll never get this problem done."

"All this time on one little problem?" Eustace replied with a sneering laugh. "You ought to be ashamed, Edmund Scrubbs. Why, I could have done it half a dozen times before now. "

"Well, I've been over and over it," Edmund said, "and there are two numbers that won't come out right."

"How do you know they're not right, then?" Eustace asked, tugging on Edmund's hair as he spoke. Edmund brushed him away impatiently, and then explained that he had the correct answer, so he knew his answer was wrong.

"Then why not just write down the right numbers? Eustace asked. "That's what I would do."

"But that wouldn't be honest."

"Nonsense! Nobody will know if you cheat a little." Edmund just shook his head.

"But I do know I won't get it with you bothering me," he said. He then tried to turn his attention to his geography book, but Eustace just wouldn't stop. He poked him, hit him, pulled at his hair, knocked the book out of his hands, and kept up an incessant chatter. On the verge of a screaming rage, Edmund told him through clenched teeth to leave him alone. But Eustace just sat there, grinning idiotically at Edmund.

Giving up on the geography, Edmund took out his notebook and a calligraphy pen from his desk. He dipped the pen into ink and very carefully began his penmanship assignment. But Eustace stood over him as he wrote, criticizing every letter he made. At last, he jogged his elbow, making a large black spot on the otherwise perfect paper.

It was too much. Edmund stood up suddenly and seethed at Eustace,

"Now look what you did! I won't get to go to the museum, thanks to you and your doltish tricks!"

Eustace, who was not always as hateful as he seemed, felt suddenly guilty about the trouble he had caused.

"Never mind, Edmund. I can fix it," he said. "I'll just tear out this page with the spot, and you can start again on the next page. I won't bother you anymore, and I can help you with the arithmetic problem." Edmund offered a half smile.

"Thanks, but I can't let you do my work for me." Eustace had not expected his offer to be refused.

"Very well then," he huffed. "If you won't let me help, then it's your own fault that you stay home."

Susan was also astounded. "Edmund, I have no patience for you," the older girl exclaimed. "You always raise such a clamor. I won't pity you at all if you stay home."

Edmund said nothing and returned to his work, but he noted sadly there wasn't much he could do about the ink spot. _It spoils the whole thing,_ he thought dejectedly. He then tried to finish his other work, but Eustace's persecutions had shaken him and he couldn't concentrate hard enough.

The hour was up, and Mr. Day returned. Still, Edmund thought he had a chance, if only Mr. Day would call on the others first. Perhaps Eustace would take the blame for the ink spot, and everything would be all right after all.

As soon as the teacher had taken his seat, however, he called, "Edmund, come here. Bring your book and recite your geography lesson for me, and I want to see your penmanship as well."

Although he was nervous about the penmanship, Edmund recited quite well, for he had studied the geography lesson thoroughly. But his recitation was not perfect, and with a frown, the teacher handed back the textbook. Mr. Day was always more severe with Edmund than any of his other pupils – for reasons that will soon become clear.

Noting the two incorrect numbers in Edmund's arithmetic problem, Mr. Day put down the boy's notebook and looked at the penmanship.

"You careless, disobedient child!" he shouted as Edmund flinched. "Didn't I tell you it had to be perfect? There will be no trip for you today. You have failed at everything. Go back to your seat! Correct the problem and do the next one. Then write another page of penmanship. And mind you, if there is one solitary mistake on that page, you will not get your supper today!"

Eustace, who had watched the whole scene while pretending to study, became very conscience-stricken. But when Edmund gave him an imploring look, he turned away and whispered to himself, "It's his own fault. He wouldn't let me help." Glancing up again, he saw that Jill was scowling at him, and Susan was looking at him with scorn and contempt.

"Mr. Day," spoke up Susan, "since Eustace won't say anything, I have to tell you it's all his fault that Edmund failed his lessons. He tried hard, but he was bothering him throughout the hour you were gone, and the ink spot was his fault. Edmund was too honorable to tear out the page."

"Is this true, Eustace?" Mr. Day demanded angrily. The boy hung his head but didn't reply.

"All right, then," Mr. Day said, "you will stay at home as well." Susan was amazed. "Surely you won't punish Edmund now that I've told you it wasn't his fault."

Mr. Day turned his gaze on Susan, and with ice in his voice said, "Understand this, Miss Susan. I will not be dictated to by any of my pupils."

Susan bit her lip but said nothing more. As the other children recited their lessons, Edmund sat at his desk and struggled to keep his anger in check. Although he was generally a calm and gentle person, he often had to do battle with a naturally quick temper. But because he seldom displayed his anger to others, it was commonly said within the family that Edmund had no spirit.

The other children had just finished their lessons when the door opened and a tall woman, elegantly dressed, entered the schoolroom.

"Through yet, Mr. Day?" Mrs. Scrubbs asked.

"Yes, madam, we have just finished."

"Well, I hope your pupils have all done well and are ready to accompany us to the museum." Perhaps it was the faint sound of Edmund grinding his teeth together that attracted Mrs. Scrubbs' attention. "What is the matter with Edmund?" she inquired of the teacher.

"He failed in all his lessons, and I've told him that he must stay home today," Mr. Day replied, his anger rising again. "And since Miss Susan tells me that Eustace was partly to blame, he will stay as well."

"Excuse me for correcting you," Susan said indignantly to her teacher. "I did not say 'partly', for I am quite sure it was _entirely_ Eustace's fault."

Mr. Day didn't have chance to reply, as Mrs. Scrubbs addressed her daughter curtly, "Hush, Susan. How can you be sure of such a thing? Mr. Day, I beg you to excuse Eustace this time. He's mischievous, I know, but you shouldn't be too hard on him. "

Mr. Day's back stiffened, but he spoke with strained courtesy. "Very well, madam. You, of course, have the right to control your own children." As Mrs. Scrubbs turned to leave, Susan spoke up again: "Mother, won't Edmund be allowed to go?"

"Edmund is not my child, and I have nothing to say about it," Mrs. Scrubbs said with a condescending air. "Mr. Day knows all the circumstances, and he is better able than I to decide whether Edmund deserves his punishment."

When her mother had gone, Susan turned to her teacher. "You will let Edmund go, won't you?" His anger now doubled by the insult from Mrs. Scrubbs, Mr. Day replied, "I've already told you that I will not be dictated to. I've said that Edmund must stay at home, and I will not break my word."

"Why do you concern yourself with Edmund's troubles?" Jill whispered to her sister as they returned to their seats. "Edmund is so full of silly principles that I have no pity for him."

Meanwhile, Mr. Day had crossed the room to stand over Edmund's desk. "Didn't I tell you to learn that lesson over?" the teacher asked. "Why are you sitting here doing nothing?"

Edmund held his head in his hands as he fought to overcome his feelings. He was quite sure if he spoke, his anger would show in his words, so he cleared his throat and opened his book. But Mr. Day wasn't satisfied. He was angry too, at Mrs. Scrubbs' interference and at the knowledge that he himself was acting unfairly. But Mr. Day, unlike Edmund, could not keep his anger hidden. He was determined to vent his displeasure, and Edmund was, as usual, his innocent target.

"Why don't you speak?" Mr. Day demanded, and he grabbed Edmund by the arm and shook him roughly. "Answer me this instant! Why have you been idling all morning, you lazy boy?"

"I haven't been idling," Edmund protested quickly. "I tried hard to do my work, and you're punishing me when I don't deserve it."

"How dare you? There!" Mr. Day shouted, smacking Edmund hard on the ear. "Take that for your impertinence!" Edmund wanted to shout his own harsh reply, but he restrained himself. Looking at his book, he tried to study, but his ear ached painfully and hot tears came so fast he could not see the page. It was at that moment that one of the house servants came to the door and announced the car was ready, and Mr. Day, followed by the other children, hurried from the schoolroom. Edmund, at last, was alone.

**So... good? Bad? Tell me if anything's not clear, and I'll add it to the foreword. Please review!**


	3. Answers

**A/N: Spurred on by all the great feedback I got for the first chapter, I decided to update ASAP. I said it last time, but seriously, you guys rock. This is just my first story, and it's got like 5 watchers and 400 hits... I love you guys :) This chapter's rather short, but I feel like it carries a lot of information, so that's all right. **

Chapter 2 – Answers

Roy Aaron was whistling cheerfully as he strolled through the hallway at Roselands. He was visiting his good friend Anthony, the oldest of the Scrubbs children. As he rounded a corner and passed the schoolroom, he heard faint sniffling. Poking his head in the door, he expected to find Lucy or Jill, but what he didn't expect was a dark-headed boy, sitting at his desk. Hearing Roy come in, the boy turned around, revealing big brown eyes and a tear-streaked face. Roy took a seat next to him.

"What's the matter, young sir?" Edmund studied the young man carefully. He recognized him as a friend of his uncle's, Anthony. He had been staying at Roselands for a few weeks while traveling back and forth between England and America. Then realizing he had left Roy's question unanswered, he tried to speak, but his throat caught and he ended up in a coughing fit. Alarmed, Roy gave him a couple of gentle _thumps_ on the back until the coughing stopped. Seeing as how he probably wasn't going to get an answer, Roy ventured a theory.

"I think I understand. Everyone has gone to the museum, and they've left you at home. Perhaps there's a lesson you failed to memorize…?" Roy's gentle manner calmed Edmund, and he was able to answer, "Yes, sir, but being left's not the worst of it. I read the bible a lot, you see, and there's a verse that says it's commendable to hold up under pressure, commendable before God. But I didn't do it. I lost my temper." Roy nodded wisely. He himself was a devoted Christian. "It's not a horrid sin to stumble a little bit, young sir. God doesn't expect us all to be perfect. Especially not someone your age." Edmund sighed. "But I should have bore the whole thing better. I'm afraid I'll never be like Jesus." Roy tapped his long fingers on the desk thoughtfully. During his stay at Roselands, he had observed the family's lack of respect for the bible and church. He hadn't spoken to Edmund before, but had noticed that he seemed rather an outcast from the whole group. Roy thought a moment more before answering, "God's love is greater than we could ever imagine. I would surmise that a few little mistakes along the way of your lifetime will not make a large difference in the outcome. I wouldn't worry about it too much, friend." Edmund was silent for a few moments as he thought about what Roy had said. Then he brightened a little bit.

"Thank you, Mr. Aaron." Roy laughed. "Just call me Roy. Mr. Aaron seems so stuffy." Edmund grinned. It was a lovely effect, the smile lighting up his pale face. There was another question on Roy's mind, though. He looked at Edmund thoughtfully. "Edmund, I hope you don't mind me asking, but why does your family seem to have… well, you know… rather a grudge against you?" Edmund's face darkened. Roy hastened to reassure him that if he'd rather not say, it was completely fine. Edmund shook his head. "I don't mind saying. It's because I'm Mr. Scrubbs grandchild, and the nephew of the others. My father was Mr. Scrubbs' son, but he died before I was born, and my mother died giving birth to me – so I'm told. I have a brother who's five years older than me, but we've never met. He was in America last, I think. I do wish he'd come home, because it's awfully lonely here, by myself. My aunts and uncles don't care for me very much, and I don't think my grandparents like me very much. Do you think my brother would like me if he came home?" Roy studied the thin boy, who, from what he had observed, had a sweet disposition and was eager to please. "Yes," he replied after some thought. "I believe he'd like you very much." Edmund smiled again. Roy stood up to leave. "Now I'd best leave you to your work, but I wouldn't mind talking to you again." Edmund smiled wider. "I'd like that." Roy grinned, and gave him a pat on the back as he left the room.

~ EEW ~

Returning to the parlor, Roy found Anthony sitting on the couch, reading a thick tome. Anthony looked up as Roy entered. "I'm glad to see you're making yourself at home. Where have you been for so long?"

"I was in the schoolroom, talking with Edmund. I thought he was your brother, but he tells me he isn't."

"No, he's my brother Horace's child," replied Anthony. "I thought you knew, but since you don't, I may as well tell you the whole story."

"Horace was a quiet, well-mannered boy, much like Edmund. When he was seventeen, he left to study law. While at the university, he met a very beautiful girl and fell in love with her. Her name was Elsie Grayson, and she was the daughter of a lawyer – much like Horace. They waited a year or so and then were married, and almost immediately had Peter, Edmund's elder brother. Five years later, Horace took Peter with him on a journey to America. There was an accident on the way, and Horace died. Peter was sent to live with a close friend of Horace's. Elsie had been pregnant with Edmund, and, already weak from the loss of Horace, died while giving birth to him. The Scrubbs grudgingly took him in, probably out of respect for the dead alone. Ed's always been slighted by the family, perhaps because his parents were quite wealthy, even more so than the Scrubbs. That's pretty much it." Roy had one question: "But what about his brother Peter?" Anthony looked thoughtful. "Peter has never come here, and he doesn't seem to care for his brother. He never mentions him in his letters, and he's never even met the boy. Of course, I haven't spoken to Peter in many years, but I believe he associates the loss of his mother with Edmund. Perhaps that is the reason he has never cared to come home and meet Edmund."

"But he's such a dear boy," Roy said. "I'm sure he'd love him if only he could meet him."

"Yes," Anthony agreed. "he is dear enough, and I often feel sorry for his loneliness. When he grew up here, you see, it was difficult. I admit my brother and sisters have not always been welcoming, but the truth is, I think they're all jealous of him. He's quite handsome for a boy of his age, and he's also an heir to a large fortune, as I mentioned earlier. I think Mother frets he will eclipse them all when he's a bit older." Roy was confused by Anthony's last statement. "Why would your mother feel jealous, when Edmund is her own grandson?"

"But that's not the case," Anthony explained, "for Horace was not my mother's son. His own mother died when he was seven or eight, and then his father married Mother, and" – he lowered his voice – "I don't believe Mother was ever very fond of him."

Both young men sat quietly for several minutes as Roy pondered this new information. "No wonder he's so melancholy all the time," he thought to himself, "and carries such grief for the parents he never knew." Anthony's recounting of Edmund's lonely birth and sad position among the Scrubbs perhaps explained, as well, the unusual maturity that Roy had sensed in the boy. "God," thought Roy, "may be his only friend." At last Anthony spoke again. "Edmund is an odd boy, and I don't really understand him. He is so meek and patient that he will virtually allow the others to trample him. His meekness provokes my father, and he says he is no Scrubbs because he doesn't know how to stand up for himself. Yet Edmund does have a temper, I know. Ever so often it shows itself, but just for an instant. Then he sighs over it, like he committed some crime, whereas the rest of us think nothing of getting angry a dozen times a day. And he's always reading that bible of his, though what he finds so interesting about it is beyond me." Here Roy became even more thoughtful. "I don't know," he said contemplatively, "to me it's very enlightening." And giving farewell to his friend, he left the room.

**Reviews are love. :D**


End file.
